I'm 399 years old in dog years today.
I wrote this poem in my honor.
My skin is getting wrinkly
My thighs are getting fat
When I tug on my cheek in fact
It doesn't fall right back
My eyelids are starting to droop
I have trouble going poop
One eye sags lower than the other
And when I sleep on my back
I choke and fear I might smother.
There's a creak in my neck
That wasn't there before
And when I look in the mirror
At my back side
It's practically drooping on the floor.
There are kids who call me grammy
Box boys no longer flirt
And when I bend to genuflect in church
My knees they really hurt.
Even though I like to rest
My head on my bed before nine
At least I can say
I'm not dead (yet)
Before my time!
Happy Birthday To Meeeeeee!
Tia
